Water is hazardous

Today. I get up and check the weather. -3. I throw on my most thrashed pair of runners, put my hair in pigtails because it's endearing, and head to my first ever cross country race at Jericho beach. From the photos on the site and the description I had some idea as to what I was getting into. I'm familiar with the beach. I'm familiar with the trails near the beach. I know how to run. I'm pretty slow on the trails because trail running is much more involved and exhausting than road running, so I thought that - given my PB 10k is 46:52 - I would allow myself 55 minutes to an hour to complete it.
Meet up with C before the race. Do I want cashew brittle? No. Water? No. Why is he putting little booties on? To keep the sand out. I don't have little booties. Why are his shoes different looking than mine? Because they're trail shoes. I don't have trail shoes. Why is he only wearing one or two shirts? Because it's not -3 anymore but it's too late to do anything about it because we're warming up and we're hitting the start line.
The race director announced that, because of issues with the ice, they had removed the water hazard this year. The crowd emitted a collective "awwwww" and I secretly went "yes!" because, well, I don't want to run through water. But we'll get to that later.
We count down from five and everyone takes off like someone has lit a fire under their ass (this after C and his friend said they were going to take the first bit easy). We run out onto the grass (which is a new experience for me) and people are blasting by me. It sounded like the thundering hooves of wild horses stampeding by me and was so unnerving that I slowed down to almost a walk and let everyone pass me because I didn't want to get caught up in it.
Found a nice pace. Ran through some muddy trails. Came out and hit the beach. Running in the sand is really facking tiring and it gets in your shoes. I imagine this is where the booties come in handy. Off the beach and back into the trail, but not before having to clear a water filled ditch.
The options were this: attempt to leap from one slick, muddy side of the ditch to the other slick, muddy side of the ditch (sans glasses) and risk slipping and falling into said ditch or, follow the example of the girl in front of me and simply run through said ditch.
Into the ditch we go, thoroughly immersing my right lower leg in cold, muddy water. This is maybe 3k in and I'm not sure what to make of it. This doesn't happen on road races. In fact, in my entire running career I have never experienced this. Am I going to start to chafe now? Is my foot going to get super cold? Should I try and jump it next time? But no time for these thoughts: more muddy trails lay ahead.
Navigate them pretty well, come blasting down a hill and a volunteer admonishes us to take it easy on the hill. What hill? Oh, the random hill that is super steep and covered in frost, naturally. I had one goal for this race: not to fall. All of a sudden I've come upon this steep descent too quickly and I am basically just flailing down it, praying that one foot still continues to place itself in front of the other, totally not in control of my own body. Awesome. The pit of mud at the bottom kind of slowed me down.
I look at my watch as I finish the first 5k loop and it's 25 minutes, which I was pretty happy with. The good thing is that I'm half done. The bad thing is that I know what the next 5k holds and I'm kind of tired, but I'm not in it to win it and hey: let's just have a good time.
The muddy trails are now significantly muddier. The sandy stretch seems longer this time. A volunteer says looking good as I approach the water filled ditch. I laugh and plunge into the ditch: now both feet and legs are muddied and saturated with trench water. I go a bit slower down the nefarious hill and: I don't fall!
I think: this is fun. This is the adult equivalent of jumping in rain puddles.
I finish just under 51 minutes. I used to struggle for a sub 50 minute 10k on the road. I'm pretty happy with my first cross country race. I don't really care about the time. It was fun. It was hard and a bit technical and totally muddy and wet, but it was a riot.
Didn't catch up with C at the end, but did snag something to eat at the amazing post-race spread (I'm doing it again next year and staying for the food). Read up on the man in whose honour we were running today: Gunner Shaw. He passed away at age 39 in 1984. When asked if he carbo-loaded he replied "every day" and when prompted what he changed leading up to a marathon he said his underwear. He was late to some races, starting sometimes 5 minutes after the gun had gone off. I believe he founded or was part of the Prairie Inn Harriers: the people that pass out beer during the Victoria marathon (I've smelled it the last couple of times I've run Victoria and next time I'm stopping).
It was a good day, today.